Two Pieces
by Alexandra3
Summary: COMPLETED Pains of Elrond series. Elrond labored to save his beloved wife after she was attacked by orcs. Though he fought for both her body and mind, he could not succeed when it mattered most.


DISCLAIMER: Tolkien is a genius. I am not. I own nothing.

The Pains of Elrond

**Two Pieces**

**

* * *

**

It had been two days.

Two horrifying, agonizing days.

Elrond tried to keep his mind focused on the task before him; if he mixed the wrong proportions of herbs into the water, than the drink would be ruined and he would have to start over. He forced his mind into blankness as he continued. But his shaking hands reminded him of what was at stake–_who_ was at stake.

Elrond stopped working, putting everything down before he spilled something. He leaned forward and folded his arms on the work table, resting his forehead against them. As much as he tried to remind himself that the patient should not change anything, it did. The patient changed everything.

Celebrían.

His beautiful wife was lying on the bed in the next room, motionless. For the rest of his long life, Elrond knew he would never forget that scene two days ago. He would never forget the sound of his sons' horses, racing up the path. He would never forget the pounding of his heart, secretly dreading what they brought with them. But it was the sight that was burned upon his memory; the sight of the graceful elf that had captured his heart, broken and battered upon Elladan's horse.

Elrond hardly remembered what he had done in that moment. He could only feel horror and rage welling up inside of him, aching to be set free. He had gone forward, numbly holding out his arms so Elladan could lower Celebrían into them. Her body had been far too light. Her silver hair was shorn in some places, matted with blood in others. Her normally pale skin was nearly translucent, glistening with sweat. Her glorious, twinkling eyes were closed to the world, retreating to a place that was close to death.

Elrond did not remember rushing into the house and ordering servants and healers about. He did not remember Glorfindel helping where he could. His entire focus had resided solely on Celebrían and saving her life.

That had been two days ago. Elrond had not slept, had hardly stopped moving in all that time. He had treated every wound that he could. But his fear had begun to grow. He knew he could treat her physical wounds. But deep inside, he wondered if he would be able to heal her mind and heart.

The ageless Elven lord shook himself and straightened. He set about completing the restorative he was working on, his hands slightly more steady. He had a great deal of work to do yet. He would rest later. He would seek revenge for his wife later. But now he needed to heal.

* * *

It had been two weeks. 

Two aching, sleepless weeks.

Elrond felt his head drooping and shot to his feet. He began to pace the room, to keep his body awake. He stopped at the foot of the bed and simply stared at its lone occupant.

Celebrían had hardly improved at all. Only a scant few days ago had she finally awoken, though she had not been entirely coherent. She had looked around herself and cried out, supposedly still seeing the orcs that had taken her. Elrond had rushed to her side, tried to comfort her, but she had shrunken away from him.

That action alone had nearly torn him to pieces. His own wife was afraid of him.

Even after she had fallen into an exhaustive sleep–eyes still closed–he had sat by her side for a great while, just watching her. He had managed to save her body, but her soul was another matter.

Elrond began to pace again, trying to stay awake. He would need to sleep soon, but he shunned the release. He did not want to miss a moment of Celebrían being conscious. Glorfindel would undoubtedly appear soon and force him to rest. The golden-haired warrior had taken over running Imladris, along with Erestor. Elrond was eternally grateful to them. He knew that he was far too preoccupied to focus on something as trivial as trading tariffs when his wife's life was in danger.

The door creaked open and sure enough, Glorfindel stood in the portal, arms crossed over his chest. Elrond sighed. Maybe if he slept, he would wake up and the nightmare would have ended.

* * *

It had been two months. 

Two heartrending, exhaustive months.

Elrond stood on the balcony to his study, looking down into the garden. Celebrían was sitting on a bench, calmly reading a book. She was alone except for a resident healer sitting nearby, just in case something should happen. Once the Lady of Imladris had truly awoken and become aware of herself, she had become restless and withdrawn. Her body was completely healed of the injuries the orcs had inflicted upon her. But she was still far from well.

She still flinched from Elrond's touch every now and then. And he was the only one that she allowed to touch her at the moment. She had shied away from her sons. Glorfindel and Erestor were virtually unwelcome. She would let some of the female healers near her, but that list was small and dwindling. She withdrew further into herself almost every day. She craved seclusion and peace.

Elrond no longer knew what he could do.

He knew the signs, he just did not choose to acknowledge them. Deep in his heart, he knew and feared that Celebrían was not long for this world. He understood that his wife had been scarred so deeply by her capture that there would be no peace for her anywhere on Middle-earth, let alone in Imladris. She would only find peace in Valinor.

Celebrían knew this as well. But she stayed.

Things had changed so swiftly in such a short time. All of Imladris had been thrown into upheaval. Elrond was returning to his duties, albeit slowly. Glorfindel and Erestor had returned more to their respective places. Elladan and Elrohir had ridden out on a mission of revenge for their mother. And Celebrían simply sat quietly, fading all the while.

At times, Elrond doubted he would survive this. At other times, he knew that he had too and that he had no choice. But that did not change that he wept at night because his energetic and beautiful wife had been taken from him in spirit. He knew she would leave him for greener shores–for calming waters and healing ways. And the thought tore him in two.

* * *

It had been two years. 

Two joyless, sorrowful years.

Elrond sighed and sat heavily at his desk, weary eyes passing over the documents before him. It had been two years to the day since Celebrían had been rescued. It had been longer still since there had been any true happiness within the Lord's heart. But he always found this day to be the most painful. Because a year ago on this day, his wife had left for Valinor.

The announcement that she had decided to sail did not surprise him. But it had still hurt Elrond. It had still hurt that his wife had wanted to leave their home, their children, _him._ Still, he could do nothing more than escort her to the Grey Havens and watch as her ship faded into the west.

He had been a mess for days afterward.

Once again, Glorfindel and Erestor found themselves running the city, trying to control the murderous rage within the twins and trying to comfort Elrond all at the same time. The effort had nearly driven everyone into the ground. But things had returned to an earthly sense of normal.

Elrond had taken up leadership once again. Despair had beckoned to him. Though he had longed to take the shadowed hand, he had refused. Celebrían would not have wanted him to surrender to his agony. She had told him so before she had left. She had been more open to him in that her goodbye to him than she had been since she had been returned. She reminded him that she loved him with all her being, but she needed to heal somewhere else.

Elrond clung to her words as the lifeline that they were. He could not leave this world, there was still a great deal that he would be needed to do. His foresight had shown him that much. No matter, it still did not erase his guilt over Celebrían's capture and subsequent torture. He would always feel that there was something he could have done, something he _should_ have done.

Whether there was a way he could have changed events, he would never know. All Elrond knew was that his wife had been taken from him–and that was something he was not sure he could ever recover from. His heart had been broken into two parts when she left. And he doubted his healer's hands could do anything to remedy the pain that would always live with him.

End-

* * *

Well, after a rather long absence from the LOTR fandom, I have returned! If only briefly, of course. This story has been through so many different forms, I'm surprised it ended up like this. I've always thought this would be hard to write and I don't feel that I really did the event justice. Oh well. I would also like to apologize if my dates or timeline is off in any way. My copy of LOTR is at home, 2000 miles from my dorm room and rather inaccessible. Hopefully, it works. I would love for any feedback from you! Constructive criticism is welcome of course, but please hit that little review button and let me know what you think! 

Thanks again, hope you enjoyed it! Alexandra


End file.
